Venting
by Priestess of the Myrmidon
Summary: Well, let's see... Briseis tries to vent all her anger, frustration, sadness and stuff. OK, I give up, I suck at summaries, so why don't you just R&R?


Title: Venting

Rating: PG (I guess)

Summary: Well, let's see... Briseis tries to vent all her anger, frustration, sadness and stuff. OK, I give up, I suck at summaries, so why don't you just R&R?

Genre: General/Romance

Pairing: Briseis/Achilles

Disclaimer: Troy is mine! Muhahahaha! Yeah... sure, in my dreams it's mine.

A/N: Uhh... I don't have one. Wait, yes I do! Ummm... you guys know the drill, italic not in paragraph, poem thingee, and italicized in paragraph thoughts or emphasis. And as y'all know, this'll be UN-HOMER LIKE! I repeat, un homer like, because this is the Troy section, duh!

Right, and since my other one "Remember" ( - go read :) Please!) had the poem thing in Achilles' P.O.V, this one is in Briseis'.

* * *

_I hate you Paris,  
__you killed Achilles.  
__Why couldn't you listen to me?_

Her panicked screams of "no" echoed throught Troy."Paris!" she screamed. "Paris, no!" Paris released the first arrow; it pierced Achilles' heel. His head flew back in pain. Briseis watched in agony as the first arrow struck her lover, feeling like _she_ had been the one shot with that arrow, and not him. He gasped for air, stood and turned.

Quickly, the prince loaded another arrow, and this one lodged itself in Achilles' shoulder, blue feathers sprouting from his chest armor. Achilles faltered, for the pain was great. He stared at the arrow in shock. Briseis watched in fear for Achilles Achilles yanked out the arrow and winced. He now looked like a fish out of the Aegaen, without out water, gasping for air. His eyes were watering."Stop," she shouted, "Please Paris," _If you have any love for me at all_, she thought, _listen to me, Apollo damn you!_

Paris shot three more arrows, each meeting its mark. For the final time, Paris loaded his bow. Desperately, Briseis ran in front of him, gathering her blue robes in her hands. "Paris! Don't!" she screamed desperately, and utterly, utterly uselessly.

Paris being the stubborn man that he was, unheedingly shot the arrow into Achilles' stomache. The final arrow finished him off. He dropped to his knees and Briseis rushed to him. She kneeled in front of him. Briseis knew that if the pain was great enough to make Achilles drop the his knees, he must be going through a lot of pain. Achilles was a tough man. He yanked out the last arrow. A thin crimson line of blood dribbled down his chin. Achilles wiped it away with the back of his hand.

"It's alright," he said, rocking her side-to-side in a hug. "It's alright. You gave me peace after a lifetime of war." He almost felt like crying too. To find his beautiful lover, only to be separated by an even worse barrier than the high stone walls of Troy: death. Comfortingly, he stroked her brown, wavy hair. Paris was staring at the pair dumbfounded and enraged, _what on earth was that brute doing to his cousin!_

Strange, his mother had been right and wrong. If he had stayed home he would have found love. Maybe it would have happened, maybe not. But he found love at Troy. _And_ peace. Would he have found that if he stayed? He didn't know. But she had been right, he was going to die. Unshed tears glinted in his eyes.

Briseis stroked his face gently, trying to ease the pain she knew he was in. She tried to impart a little comfort, as he did. He tried to give Briseis comfort, but it really, really didn't work. She was hysterical.

How could he die?  
HOW!  
Why did he have to die?  
WHY!

That's what she asked Apollo.

"Briseis," came Paris' voice. "We have to go." She didn't even acknowledge she heard him. _How dare he not listen to me and shoot Achilles and then turn around and expect me to listen to him! He must be stupid idiot!_ And at the moment, to her, Paris was an idiot. "Come. We must go if we want to get out of here alive," he said urgently. She pressed her lips against his. Fiercely, and passionately, savoring what this kiss felt like. What _a_ kiss felt like. She would kiss no one else. She would love no one else. She would marry no one else. Ever.

"Go." And so the doomed lovers parted. Shamelessly, those tears ran down his cheeks, both from sadness and pain. Likewise, tears were streaking down his lover's cheeks. She turned her had and drank in the sight of him, knowing it would be her last. It was like she had been stranded in the desert, and was been presented with a wineskin full of water. And she wept for her lover.

* * *

When they reached the tunnel, everything hit her like an insane horse running for its life. Achilles. Gone. Forever. And because of Paris, the man standing right next to her. 

"I hate you!" she cried, pounding her fists against her cousin's chest, trying to vent, _trying_. He stiffened. And raised a hand as if to hit her, barely controling the urge. "Do it," she snarled venhemently, not caring if he did. Pain was welcome. So was death. Achilles' words. Oh Apollo, _Achilles! _Briseis' brown eyes watered. She looked like a lost child, alone in the world, and she _was _alone. All because Paris did not listen to her! His hand dropped.

"How could you love the man who killed Hector? Hmmm?" he demanded of her. "How could you? Would you betray Troy for him? Have you already?"

"Lest you forget Paris this whole damned war was started because of _YOU!_" she screeched. He flinched inwardly, but he showed no emotion on the outside. He was a stone. And where had she learned that language? Probably from that brute, Achilles. Priestesses weren't supposed to know that kind of language.

Paris was stunned. Who was this woman? Where was the cousin he had known his whole life? The traitorous part of his mind replied, _Dead with the man you killed, unheedingly of your cousins pleas. This is your fault. All yours._ He beat that part of his brain in submission. He killed my brother, he told himself, but just trying to make an excuse up for killing his cousin's lover.

"How could you love him, Briseis? Knowing that he killed Hector?" he snapped. She snorted mentally. _Obviously, but do you think that will affect me? You have much to learn, Cousin._

"How could you love Helen, Paris? Knowing she would be the downfall of Troy?" There. Pain for pain. Paris' face fell. "Damn you," she muttered bitterly."Apollo damn you!" she shouted. Crying, she collapsed into his arms. Crying for the man who had given his life so that she might live. Her lover. Achilles, the man now dead by Paris' hand.

"Peace, Briseis. I'm sorry. Peace." He stroked the hair of his beloved cousin as she cried for the man who had killed his brother. And pitied her. This is what he would feel like if Helen died.

_I'm sorry Paris._

_I hate you Helen,  
__you caused this war.  
__Why did you give in to your lust?_

Briseis looked at the stunningly beautiful woman in front of her. While she was nice enough, the priestess had a sinking feeling about her. A feeling that because of this woman many things she loved would be destroyed. Briseis hadn't gotten much time to speak to her, the woman was busy being toured around, introduced to, and numerous other things. But Briseis wanted to know this person. Know the person who had made her cousing love and not lust.

Now she stood here, talking with the one woman who would likely bring around the fall of her beloved home. Helen's lovely face had sadness displayed all across it; she knew what Briseis was thinking about. She knew.

Briseis didn't envy this woman her beauty, it caused her too many problems. However, she was the personification of beauty. She _almost_ looked like a goddess. Almost, but not quite. Gods, she wanted to be friends with this woman, and yet she didn't want to. This woman would bring around the fall of Troy. Finally, Helen gave her a reason to snap at her. Apollo, she didn't want to, but she needed to find a way to show this woman what Briseis felt about what was going to happen to the beloved Troy.

Helen's face fell with sadness. She wanted to have someone to talk to besides Paris. Everyone else blamed her for what was going to happen, and gods it was true. She was to blame for this war. How Helen loved Paris, and yet she wanted to make things right; to go back in time and change it. She loved him more than anything, and Helen didn't regret it, not one bit, but she was sorry she had caused this terrible war. This was all her fault. She had given into Paris' seductions and had run away with him to Troy.

Immediately Briseis was sorry she had snapped at this woman. Helen was going through alot, and she needed a female companion to talk to. Briseis mentally sighed. Was she going to have to continually make up for the rudeness shown to this beautiful visitor? Was she?

But, this woman had left Menelaus for Paris... And Menelaus was Agammenmon's brother. And Agammenmn needed but a pitiful excuse to attack Troy. And he had it.

_I'm sorry Helen._

_I hate you Patroclus,  
__you had to fight Hector.  
__Why did you want to fight so badly?_

Briseis looked at the young man infront of her. What a spitting image of Achilles he was. He looked like a brother of Achilles, not a cousin of his. Calm and cool like his elder cousin. And yet he felt the need to fight badly. And it scared her. What if Patroclus died? What would Achilles do then? The thought scared her. Before her, he had admited he had never _loved_. Sure he had made love, but never loved anyone but his mother and Patroclus. Briseis just filled in the rest. If Patroclus died, there would be trouble, and not trouble she would like to encounter if she had the choice. Fear struck her. Would Patroclus do something extremely rash?

* * *

Briseis awoke to a shout. Achilles! What was he asking? Quickly she rushed out of the little makeshift hut in her loose fitting green dress. Briseis saw the commander on the ground with Achilles' foot on his thoat. 

"Stop!" she shrieked desperately. What was all this about? What were the two talking about? Why was Achilles so mad? And then she realized. Where was Patroclus? Oh gods no! NO!

Briseis ran over to try and pry her lover off of him. He was not thinking clearly. She knew he would regret it later if he killed Eudorus. All she was rewarded was a had grasped around her throat. "Please," she gasped. He dropped her and strode off. "Please," she rushed after him. When he was getting on his chariot, she ran up. "Please, Hector's my cousin. He's a good man. Please don't fight him. Please!" He coldly snatched back his arm. Helplessly she watched him ride away in his chariot. Briseis had a feeling that when he returned, he would be wearing her cousin's blood. Briseis turned and walked back to the hut weeping.

She looked around. Would no Myrmidons help their commander? Cowards. They could face an army without flinching, but if their second-in-commander was lying on the sand from Achilles they would not help him? Apollo damn him! Why had he gone and fought? Why? Why the Hades did he have to fight? They were going to sail home. Now, no one was sailing home. Now everything was ruined. She should have know that Achilles would go and kill Hector because he had killed his cousin. Would this vicious circle ever stop? And this was all because of the eagerness of a boy.

_I'm sorry Patroclus._

_I hate you Hector,  
__you killed Patroclus.  
__Why did you have to fight him?_

"Was there need to fight him? How could you not see it was not Achilles, Cousin? How could you not see it was a boy?" Briseis wept in the dark corner of the hut. They would have sailed home today. Off to a new life. A new life with him. But now that was out the window. Why did Hector kill him? Why? Why did the gods play such cruel tricks? Such sad, sad tricks? Did they have nothing better to do than mess with mortal's lives?

Hector was going to die. She knew and she could not stand the thought. As much as she loved her cousin, and as well as he fought, she knew he was not able to best the Great Achilles.

Briseis laughed bitterly through her tears. Wasn't this where she and Achilles had started out? He went from murderer, to not so brutish, to her lover, to her host and lover, and back to murderer. And all in a couple days. Was this what war was always like? How could men stand killing and war?

War was nothing but a vicious, cruel circle, and some men liked it. Her cousin was a smart man, how could he not have spotted the difference between them?

She had been happy. Achilles had been happy. Hector had been happy with Andromache, but between Patroclus and Hector, the combonation deadly, they thoroughly ruined plans of going home. What had Hector been thinking? What had he been thinking! How could he stand it? Did he know? Did he? Did he know he had ruined her life? She hoped he did. Instantly, she regreted that train of thought.

Hector was a good man, as she had told Achilles. He had been trying to protect his country as best he could. He had ovbiously thought Patroclus was Achilles. Gods how she wanted everything to be alright, but Briseis knew that nothing was ever going to be alright again.

_I'm sorry Hector._

_I hate you Achilles,  
__you left me here alone.  
__Why did you not take me with you?_

"Why," she whispered. "WHY?" she shouted, collapsing into a cying, broken heap.She asked herself that over and over; why had she not died with him? Why? Briseis felt like she would be better off if she had died with him. She needed him. Why did he die? What was the need for his death? She had loved him. Briseis cried for the man she loved. Now dead because of Paris. Now gone. Now she was alone, and she needed him more than ever. She needed Hector or Achilles, and both were dead.

Was this Apollo's revenge? Was this his revenge for deserting him? For giving up her virgin robes for Achilles?

But she would go on as she had been for the last two months. For him. For the man who had given his life for hers. For the child she carried. Briseis was positive she was pregnant. She made a vow to herself: No one would ever hurt this child. _No one!_ She would give her life for this child. Achilles' child. Her child. _Their_ child.

She sat down on the hard, dusty ground thinking of the man she had loved. Reliving memories, picturing his face, stroking the necklace that Achilles had given her, just remembering. It was all she had left of her lover. Strange, around but two weeks with this man, and she had loved him more than anything. Loved him enough to stay with him. She should have. She should have stayed. Been with him in his last minutes. Been there when he was burned. Mourned him with his second-in-command. Mourned him with everyone.

The survivors of Troy thought she wore black for her crumbled city, but only Paris knew the dangerous truth, and he had promised to keep it a secret until she felt like telling; until she _had_ to tell everyone. When she was swollen with her, _their,_ child, she would have to tell this dangerous little secret. But until then, this was her little, little secret. Hers. Not anyone else's. Just hers. And she would have shared it with Achilles if he hadn't died!

_Damn you!_ she thought fiercely, _for leaving me alone in this condition._ But she instantly felt regret. No, this was a gift, just like the necklace. A gift from him to her. Her gift alone.

_I'm sorry my love._

Fin. Now be kind and review. Pretty, pretty please! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight, and again, here's poem thingee with out all the stuff inbetween.

_I hate you Paris,  
you killed Achilles.  
Why couldn't you listen to me?_

_I'm sorry Paris._

_I hate you Helen,  
__you caused this war.  
__Why did you give in to your lust?_

_I'm sorry Helen._

_I hate you Patroclus,  
__you had to fight Hector.  
__Why did you want to fight so badly?_

_I'm sorry Patroclus._

_I hate you Hector,  
__you killed Patroclus.  
__Why did you have to fight him?_

_I'm sorry Hector._

_I hate you Achilles,  
__you left me here alone.  
__Why did you not take me with you?_


End file.
